


Clutch

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Dragonfucking, Egg Laying, F/F, Oviposition, PWP, Size Difference, Teratophilia, dragon!morag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21817978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mòrag is a dragon and Brighid wants her eggs.
Relationships: Brighid/Mòrag Ladair
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	Clutch

**Author's Note:**

> i dedicate this to all my egg-loving/dragon-loving buddies <3
> 
> happy holidays! this is something i wanted to write for easter but better late than never right?? i didn't feel like doing much exposition for this au but basically morag is a dragon, brighid is a human, they're in love and sometimes they fuck. easy peasy.

“I may need to leave for a few days,” Mòrag declares.

“Oh?” Brighid raises an arm, and Mòrag obligingly lowers herself so that Brighid is able to touch her face. “Not to escape winter’s arrival, I would expect. You generate plenty of your own heat— if you’re planning to leave me, you could at least make precautions so that I don’t freeze to death alone.”

“No, never,” Mòrag rumbles. “This is… a matter unrelated to the change of seasons.”

Living with a dragon has had its merits, but becoming accustomed to the nature of the beast has been a task of its own. Brighid wouldn’t say she regrets choosing to stay here; the wilds of the mountains offer few of the comforts she’d grown up with, but Mòrag keeps her safe and warm. And protected. Not every human is privileged enough to be able to form such a bond, anyway, and Brighid certainly isn’t one to take it for granted.

The mighty Flamebringer of the Ardainian Wilds is terrifying in her own right, and yet she’s also… docile. If anything, Brighid would compare her temperament to that of a loyal dog. Mòrag might not take kindly to such a comparison but she had made it abundantly clear, on many numerous occasions, that she would never hurt Brighid or allow her to come to any harm.

So, at least Brighid can rest easy knowing the affection is reciprocated. She grasps the sides of Mòrag’s head, not quite tall enough to reach for her horns, and kisses her nose.

“Tell me, Mòrag.”

“Er,” Mòrag closes her eyes. “On occasion, in the odd year, we dragons… Brighid, you are aware of how few of us remain in this world?”

“Painfully so,” Brighid says.

“Frankly, I have little interest in finding a mate of my own kind.” _Seeing as I already have you,_ goes unsaid, even if the implication is obvious enough. “However…”

“Oh, I see,” Brighid raises a brow. “You need to lay your eggs.”

“… Yes.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” She takes a few steps back. Mòrag’s scales are nearly iridescent beneath the sun, her oil-black hide shimmering green and blue. Brighid had always thought of her as beautiful— all dragons are beautiful, but the Flamebringer is particularly so. She’s strong, and magnificent, and apparently embarrassed of the situation. Haven’t they come this far together for a reason? Maybe she ought to be insulted that Mòrag would hesitate with telling her.

“As I recall,” Brighid says, tapping her chin. “Male dragons have a brood pouch— they carry the clutch for the entire gestation period. Don’t tell me you were planning to find someone else to bear your eggs for you, Mòrag.”

“I would never—“

“That settles that, then. You’ll be giving your eggs to me,” Brighid is already walking back to the cave, knowing that all it would take is a single wave of her hand to make Mòrag follow. “I can’t incubate them, but I can at least give you some relief.”

“Excuse me?!”

But Brighid pretends to be out of earshot, her heart racing and lips still spread in a smile.

* * *

The cavern is spacious, large enough for a massive pile of grasses pushed against one side where they sleep and an assortment of other bits of furniture for Brighid at the other end. It’s _clean_ , all things considered, which is the least of Brighid’s appreciation.

They’ve lain together before, and fooled around plenty, but this is new. No amount of discussion is going to make Mòrag get over her apprehension, Brighid figures, so she simply strong-arms her down— somewhat literally, grappling her until she’d had lowered herself to Brighid’s eye level.

“I—“ Mòrag stammers, curling up a bit tighter around herself and folding her wings. She looks even smaller like that, almost laughably so, and Brighid fights the urge to exclaim how endearing she’s being right now. If only dragons could blush. “I wouldn’t want to impose, surely— not to mention the, difficulties, of such—“

Her hesitation is cute, but Brighid’s patience can only be tested so much; she begins to strip, taking her time with each piece of clothing, relishing Mòrag’s very surprised and very flustered reaction. By the time she’s completely naked, Mòrag had shuffled back clear out of arm’s reach.

Then she’s practically scrambling as Brighid approaches, claws gouging against stone in her haste. At her full height, she’d be nearly twice as tall as her— small, by some standards, but still intimidatingly large for a beast infamous for burning down entire villages. It’s a laughable thing, to Brighid, for this fearsome dragon to present so docile and timid before a mere human woman. Laughable, but charming, and wholeheartedly endearing.

“Let me make this clear: I _want_ to. Wouldn’t it be more cathartic for you as well?” Brighid keeps taking steps forward until Mòrag is backed up against the wall, at which point she draws up onto her hind legs in a vaguely intimidating posture. She nearly slips on the bed of grass.

She really is _big_. Every time Brighid thinks she’d become accustomed to her size, she’s caught off guard and her heart skips a beat all over again.

“I would advise against overestimating your own body’s capabilities!” However, Mòrag’s belly is exposed like that. Brighid seizes the opportunity before she can retreat again.

Mòrag sharply inhales at Brighid’s firm touches, palms stroking against the lighter grayish skin of her belly and tracing upwards to feel where muscle stretches over her ribs. She continues rubbing until Mòrag begins to automatically relax, though her breathing is still quickened; her legs quaver until she drops heavily into a sitting position, shifting and adjusting to allow Brighid to continue feeling her underside. Her tail lashes back and forth, and would knock Brighid over if she hadn’t already climbed up onto her torso.

Mòrag’s stomach is… soft. Her weak point being her belly is practically a cliché, but it isn’t as though Brighid would point that out. The reptilian skin is pleasantly cool to the touch, and overall dry, but the more Brighid runs her hands across her the more she can feel a peculiar warmth welling up from within the dragon’s very core. She stretches herself up to rest her face against Mòrag’s chest, feeling and listening to her heartbeat.

“Brighid… if you…”

“Hush. I know what I want.” Brighid wants to grab Mòrag by the snout and squeeze her jaw shut so she stops talking, or something. But instead, she decides turns her attention low once more— and then lower still, until Mòrag gasps a bit of fire and tries to move away.

Her fingers dance over the slit, as if to confirm it’s there. Brighid makes soft shushing noises as she prods a little further then strokes up and down, taking note of how intense that warmth already is.

Of course she’d done her research— which is why she would even admit she may be overconfident about this after all, but Brighid is rarely one to go back on her own… ambitions, however questionable they may be. Laying with a dragon included. Dragons don’t _need_ mates, technically, they’re perfectly capable of depositing their eggs alone even if they wouldn’t hatch. But for the sake of their dwindling populations and low chance of successfully raising offspring, female dragons had evolved to carry the capability of passing their eggs to a male dragon for incubation.

And a whole bunch of other stuff about their very specific mating rituals, but Brighid figured most of that wouldn’t be very important for her own circumstances.

Most likely not. She’s focused entirely on working at that slit, daring to slip a finger in, then two. Horrible scraping noises come from Mòrag clawing at the ground at her sides, tail heavily thumping in an irregular rhythm, grass flying.

“A-ahh—”

Mòrag growls, as Brighid successfully coaxes her ovipositor out.

She turns her head away as Brighid rubs the appendage in slow strokes without even pausing— it’s long, and about as thick as Brighid’s own forearm, the same color as the dragon’s underside with even a similar texture. It’s _warm,_ too. And firm, but with a fleshy feel to it, Brighid notes.

“Now, would you prefer to me to get on my hands and knees, or lay on my back?” Brighid asks as she continues stroking it, taking note of how the tip slightly flares. The size is hardly imposing… sort of. But if Mòrag is going to be nervous about it, then Brighid has no intention of showing any hesitation on her part. Someone has to take the lead.

“Would it not hurt…?” Mòrag carefully touches Brighid’s face with one trembling claw. “That alone would be more than a strain upon you.”

“Humans aren’t nearly as fragile as you would think,” Brighid says, her own voice getting thick as she focuses on the ovipositor. For a moment, she pauses, then dares to lean in and give it a lick along its entire length.

Mòrag’s entire body shudders with a deep growl. She’s beginning to move again, trying push herself up onto her feet. Brighid quickly moves away, heart racing, and practically throws herself upon the soft nest of grasses.

“Good, good, come here now…” she coos, gesturing and spreading her legs.

The Flamebringer stands there with her head held high for that wonderful moment, looking down upon her with steaming breath and dilated pupils. It’s… dangerous, they both realize, Mòrag moreso, but. How could she resist, when Brighid is doing something like _that?_ Mòrag brings her front legs down with a crash and advances upon her on all fours until the ovipositor is dangling right above her. Brighid takes a deep breath, taking ahold of the length and—

Mòrag is moving away again.

“I’ll deposit my clutch elsewhere, perhaps in a hole in the dirt—“

“Where’s your courage, huh?!”

Brighid quickly gets up and rams her shoulder into Morag’s side. Such a negligible force would hardly nudge a dragon, but Mòrag easily buckles and obligingly lies down when Brighid shoves at her again, rolling onto her back to avoid any awkward repositioning of the ovipositor that still protrudes from between her haunches. Her wings are splayed beneath her like this. “B-Brighid?”

“ _No._ ” Brighid is climbing up onto her before Mòrag can even think to roll over again. She could simply toss her off, or even pick her up, but the dragon simply lays there and squirms. “You’re going to put your eggs _inside_ me, Mòrag, and it’s not going to kill me. Understand?”

Well, better to do it quickly before Mòrag tries to get away again. Brighid maneuvers herself to sit with her back to Mòrag and that thick, fleshy appendage in front of her— but gods, when she tries to straddles the base, she realizes it’s nearly as long as her entire torso— and grinds against it, glancing over her shoulder to see that Mòrag has put her head back against the ground, softly growling. She’s no longer making any motion to have Brighid reconsider, claws and legs twitching as Brighid humps the length of that appendage.

“If it hurts….”

“Just let me do the work here, alright?”

She turns around and raises her hips, kneeling now, reaching behind her to hold the ovipositor with one hand, and carefully guides the tip toward herself.

Almost immediately, she cries out and Mòrag moves, but Brighid quickly stops her. “I’m fine—! Just… stay still…!”

Oh, the tip of it is _big_ , too big, but the slanted tip of its flared end makes it somewhat easy for Brighid to ease herself down onto it, finding that one point of guidance, eyes squeezed shut as Mòrag’s ovipositor throbs in reaction; that she hasn’t simply thrust upwards all the way in already must be taking an immense amount of self-control.

Brighid startles when she feels something hot and fluid squirt from the tip, drenching her inner thighs. She grinds down against it harder. The fluid is _hot_ , almost burning, and she dimly hears Mòrag stutter something about it being a natural relaxant as everything between her legs is overwhelmed with a rush of heat that’s nearly numbing.

Right. Mòrag is helping. “Good girl,” Brighid breathlessly mutters, and then she bites back a scream as the tip of it finally pops inside her. But it doesn’t _hurt_ at all, despite its size. More of it slides in, and then further in, stretching her and filling her and it should have been excruciatingly painful, but more of that hot fluid is pooling beneath her knees and Brighid is doing all she can to stay upright. The arm she’s using to brace herself against Mòrag feels like it’s about to give.

It’s… _huge._ And not even half of it is in. The rational part of her knows it _won’t_ work, but her head is already beginning to fog within the overwhelming sensation of that thing stretching her out.

“Let me— no, let me do it,” she breathes out, unable to resist as Mòrag reaches down to gently take ahold of her around her middle. Mòrag is careful to keep her impaled as her surroundings briefly spin and Brighid finds herself back upon that nest of grass, face pressing down against it and hips raised.

Oh. That’s better.

“I will only ask one more time. Are you _sure_ , Brighid?” There’s something different about Mòrag’s intonation now, or maybe it’s just the strange haziness that’s rendering Brighid sapped of the strength she’d had before. Despite the size difference, Mòrag had managed to comfortably position herself on her haunches behind Brighid, unable to reach all the way down to hold onto her hips; she’s practically standing directly over her now, similar to her initial attempt.

Brighid can feel the ovipositor still expelling more of that relaxant, messily spilling out and dripping down her thighs. The grass is scratchy against her face and her back is uncomfortably arched, but Mòrag’s body heat is comforting and…

“Fuck me. _Now._ ” Brighid says as loud as she can without slurring, and with that command, the dragon begins to move.

 _Oh._ Brighid sees stars in her vision as the ovipositor is pulled back, back until that thick tip is straining against her entrance, and then roughly shoved in as far as her own body would allow for the meantime. She can _feel_ it bumping up against something deep inside her, sending a throb up her spine, and she suspects it would be agonizing pain if it weren’t for that hot, thick fluid that still drips down her thighs.

In fact, it feels… good? Better than good. She doesn’t need to relax her body, as limp as she is already, simply closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation of Mòrag hurriedly thrusting in and out of her, her growls filling the air and the air scorching hot with her gasps of fire. She’s rutting against Brighid faster and harder and faster until Brighid is being pushed forward into the grass, and Mòrag has to shuffle forward to stay inside her, and Brighid cries out as she comes.

But Mòrag doesn’t slow down, and Brighid can’t seem to find the strength to command her to ease up. All she can manage are more incoherent cries as Mòrag continues her animalistic rutting, grunting and growling and striking up against that innermost part of her again and again until Brighid comes again, gasping and drenched in sweat.

Forget about telling Mòrag to slow down, then. Nevermind that, then.

It’s only after Brighid’s third orgasm does Mòrag seem to come back to her senses, somewhat, and brings her movements down to a crawling pace. She cranes her neck to peer at the woman trapped beneath her and against her.

“B… Brighid…? Are you alright?”

She groans and shakily raises a hand.

“I’m— the eggs— I shouldn’t—“ Mòrag stutters.

Though it feels as though she’s on the verge of passing out, Brighid manages to swallow back the dryness in her throat and shout out: “ _Put them inside me._ ”

There’s a pause as Mòrag stops thrusting altogether, and for a moment Brighid is afraid she’d decided to go back on it after all, but then she’s being grabbed and lifted up again— still penetrated by the ovipositor, lodged deep inside her, insides practically filled already by all that aphrodisiac fluid.

Mòrag sits back on her haunches, carefully moving Brighid’s legs to turn her around. With this new position, she’s able to firmly grip Brighid’s body with both claws, beginning to move her up and down upon her ovipositor. Brighid presses herself flush against Mòrag, clenching and coming again, overwhelmed all over again.

“The first egg…” she dimly hears Mòrag say.

She hasn’t even noticed, at first, that the ovipositor had managed to do _something_ inside her, but it’s no longer sliding in and out and instead there’s… something. A swell straining against her entrance. It must be as big as her own fist. She cries out and leans her forehead against Mòrag, feeling an entirely new stretch as the egg moves against gravity and all the way inside her, until it pops out of Mòrag— _deposited_.

Her first egg. Brighid smiles into soft leathery skin.

Another egg is quick to follow the first, and Brighid comes with a small convulsion as it joins that other egg. They bump against each other inside her, filling her. Mòrag’s eyes are shut in concentration as she tries to hold Brighid very still, fighting against the urge to fuck her again and again while depositing her eggs inside her, reminding herself why she’d objected to this in the first place.

The third egg passes in easily, and then the fourth. A fifth is pushed in before Brighid is able to catch her breath— notably smaller than the others, but still enough to stretch and rub up against her inner walls, sending yet another wracking shock of numbing pleasure through Brighid’s body. And then another spurt of fluid, filling Brighid (and spilling out), thicker and gooier than the other fluid that had rendered her into a limp mess.

“That’s all of them,” Mòrag finally breathes out, nuzzling Brighid’s hair and sinking back against stone in relief.

“Fuck me… keep fucking me…” Brighid mumbles, weakly moving her hips but unable to because of the new, unfamiliar weight of the eggs inside her.

“No. You’ll get hurt.”

“Shh, just fuck me.”

Brighid pants and cries out as Mòrag carefully pulls herself out, feeling oddly empty and oddly full as Mòrag lays her down upon the grass to rest. The movement, however slight it may have been, is enough to shift the eggs inside her, and she winces.

Mòrag drags her tongue between Brighid’s legs. She tiredly tries to swat her away.

“What are you…” the words slur in her mouth.

“You can’t carry them,” Mòrag says matter-of-factly, snout still pushed up and her tongue running in aimless patterns over her aching slit. “You did imply you’re not quite done yet, yes? Best to get them out now before they become a problem later.”

Brighid fights to keep her eyes open, unwilling to succumb to the gentle pleasure of Mòrag licking her. She feels… full. Very full. That’s the best way she’d be able to put it to words. Yet she can see Mòrag’s point, because she can already anticipate being unable to move well, or at all, with five dragon eggs stuffed inside her. It isn’t as though they’d hatch, anyway.

Somehow, the thought of it…

She gasps and arches her back, toes curling. Mòrag bumps her snout against her navel, not hard enough to apply any heavy pressure but just enough to disturb the eggs again. Brighid keens as she feels one of the eggs rubbing up inside her, beginning to make its way down— she’s still burning from the aphrodisiacs Mòrag had doused her with inside and out. It’s supposed to hurt. But it doesn’t.

The egg’s exit is quick, made slippery by all that fluid and slime. Mòrag makes a noise of encouragement and resumes working at her pussy with her tongue, coaxing her muscles to contract and for Brighid to _come_ — which she does again, with a soft cry of genuine exhaustion, another egg emerging and spilling out onto the grass.

Her vision is blurring. Everything burns. Her shaking hands find a grip upon Mòrag’s face, and she musters what’s left of her strength to pull herself upright into a sitting position, hunched over and gasping as she expels a third egg.

Two more left.

Mòrag brings her head up, and now Brighid wraps her arms around her muzzle, holding on tight. She pushes out the fourth egg.

_It’s not supposed to feel this good, is it?_

Even when Mòrag had been fucking her like a common beast, and when she’d deposited her eggs inside her, the thought hadn’t arisen. Brighid’s grip tightens and she sinks her teeth into the skin above Mòrag’s eye without thinking, willing the burning pleasure to last as that final egg rubs up inside her and— it’s out. They’re all out.

Brighid heavily exhales, satisfied.

* * *

“Is it pleasurable for you as well, Mòrag?” Brighid asks. Mòrag had brought her to the river and now they lie together in the water, partially submerged. “You were surprisingly enthusiastic, you know.”

“Is that so?” Mòrag looks away. She’s probably embarrassed. Cute thing. Brighid splays her limbs and affectionately kisses the ridged bumps along her neck, her own body sore beyond anything she’d ever experienced before. For now, all she wants to do is lie on top of Mòrag and allow the river to wash away all that residual stickiness. “I may have been careless, admittedly…”

“So that’s a yes.”

Mòrag doesn’t answer. She dips her entire muzzle into the water and blows steaming bubbles.

“Don’t play coy. You’re glad I convinced you to stay here to lay your clutch. Well, we still need to decide what to do with those eggs,” Brighid says, turning herself over and stretching with a wince. Oh, everything is so _sore._ “What do dragons typically do with them, if they won’t hatch?”

“Well,” Mòrag starts, her composure still somewhere between collected and collapsed. “Some choose to bury them. Others choose to… eat them.”

“ _Eat_ them!”

“That is— I would never—“

“Very few could brag about knowing the taste of a dragon’s egg, I’d imagine,” Brighid interrupts. She smiles, and taps her fingers against Mòrag’s scales. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“B-Brighid.”


End file.
